Should you tell a loved one they are dying?

Photo credit:  Lisa Hall

It's been almost two years since my Grandma Mary passed away and I think about her a lot.  She was always such a strong role model and I have so many great memories of her.  She was the last remaining glue that kept our family interested in spending time together.  Sadly, that has gone away with her death.

Many people know that I lean on the side of telling it like it is.  It's my preferred method of operating in life (although that was quite contrary in my prior job, which was probably one of the many reasons that led me to leave the field.  That is another story, however).  When we got the call that my Grandma was dying, two of my sisters and I rushed up to Bellingham late at night so we could see her in the event she passed away during the night.  Thankfully, she was able to see us and was lucid and happy that we were there (her roommate--not so much!).

Having satisfied our need to see her before she passed and taking comfort that she was doing well and would likely be there in the morning, we went to our hotel room to have a few hours of sleep before coming back the next day to spend more time with her.  When we arrived the next morning, she was feeling okay and even wanted to go out to the common room so we all could sit down and visit.  However, it wasn't long before she started to go downhill and we had to return her to her room so she could be comfortable lying in her bed.

As we rubbed her sore arms, legs, and feet with some sweet-smelling lotion the home had given us to help soothe her and reminisced about our lives together, she started to ask why we were all there and if she had been in an accident.  My sisters and I exchanged glances that seemed to ask, "Should we tell her?"  One of my sisters did a funny little laugh and gave my Grandma a question back, asking her, "Why, do you feel like you were in an accident?"  I don't think she ever answered that question.  Instead, she just shrugged.

It was then that I hated the fact that I didn't speak up and tell her what was really going on.  I tried to make myself feel better by asking if it was the right thing to tell a loved one the truth about dying.  I also began telling myself that she would know if she was dying and I probably didn't need to say anything.  Plus, there was pressure from others in the family not to tell her she was dying.  In fact, they hadn't really wanted us to rush up there to see her and I don't think they even wanted us to be there at all, likely for fear that we were bothering her (we weren't of course--if we hadn't been there for her all day, no one would have helped ease her trek into death).

Looking back, if I could climb in a time machine and go back, I wouldn't have changed the fact that we visited her the way we did. That time was precious and I'm glad we had the time to be together.  What I would change is the fact that I didn't answer my Grandma's question honestly; that I didn't tell her that we were there to spend her last hours of life with her and that she was dying and to please be brave.  

Alas, there is no time machine.  Instead, I have to look fondly on the last hours we had with my Grandma and hope that she knew the truth.  At the very least, she knew we loved her and I'm sure she knows we miss her and think about her all the time.